Lola went in for knee surgery yesterday. She made it out just fine.
But, the day before the surgery, we were at home. I was finishing up making dinner: spaghetti and smoothies. Your Cousin A was over, spending a couple days with us because of the Veteran’s day holiday.
The pasta was boiling, the blender whirring, the timers ringing.
I turned to tell everyone to wash up. And there your cousin sat, at the dining table, tears welling in her eyes.
Knowing her well enough to know that she gets a little bit weepy when she’s tired, I assumed she was missing her mommy and daddy.
I asked her what was wrong and she hysterically sobbed, “I don’t want Lola to get hurt.”
“Oh, honey...” I sighed, moving to her side and enfolding her in my arms. And, I couldn’t help it, I started to cry too.
As usual, I’d involved myself with the logistics of Lola’s procedure, of what needed to be done, rather than what needed to be felt.
My “life crisis” and therapy have made me well aware of how disconnected from my feelings I am and how easily I repress my own emotions. And I’ve talked before about how I see those tendencies in Bel. For her benefit and my own I try to do emotional coaching, to build emotional intelligence and literacy. A big part of this, is modeling how I approach my own emotions.
And so, stopped in my tracks, tears welling in my own eyes, as Bel and Danjo looked on, concerned, your cousin in my arms, I simply told her: “I’m sad too. And afraid.”
This, of course, didn’t stop the water works for either of us, but I told her it’s okay to cry, to feel sad and afraid. And I don’t know about your cousin, but that alone made me feel a little better, a little less engrossed by making dinner, by planning the next day, by communicating the hospital logistics to my siblings, by the things I busy my mind with, keeping it detached and neutral, neither hopeful nor fatalistic, pushing down the low humming feeling, the anxiety, the worry and fear.
We try to be strong for our children or maybe for ourselves. We don’t want them to see us cry. Or we don’t want to cry. But, children are born wired to us, sensing and empathetic. They may not know what’s wrong, but they are affected by their parents’ emotional and psychological states. Trust me, we know.
My preoccupation and carelessness show, as I break a vase, burn myself with sloshing pasta water, am impatient and quick to shout.
These are times for mindfulness, certainly.
A time of stress, time to return to the basics, to what I know, to where I am:
“You might be tempted to avoid the messiness of daily living for the tranquility of stillness and peacefulness. This of course would be an attachment to stillness, and like any strong attachment, it leads to delusion. It arrests development and short-circuits the cultivation of wisdom.” ― Jon Kabat-Zinn, Wherever You Go, There You Are
“The little things? The little moments? They aren't little.”
―
Jon Kabat-Zinn
“You can't stop the waves, but you can learn to surf.”
―
Jon Kabat-Zinn
And your cousin helped redirect me back to that space, to the space where I am. We acknowledged our fear and worry together.
I explained, as the better-informed adult, that going to the hospital will actually make Lola better. That the doctor will fix her knee.
And that instead of worrying, maybe we could do something else for Lola?
“Like make her a card!” your cousin declared.
“Good idea,” I said, truly, a good idea.
And the three of you set forth, eager, determined. Not enough paper in the world to contain all the love you hold for your Lola.
Love,
So hard, to know how to teach a child to acknowledge their emotions without completely getting lost in them.
Hard for me to do it myself.
Posted by: amy | 14 November 2012 at 10:02 AM